


After China

by strange_h3arts



Series: Resurrect Me [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Silva, Angst, M/M, Romance, after china
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_h3arts/pseuds/strange_h3arts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of Before China (nothing gold can stay)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tiago goes to Hong Kong and doesn’t come back. 

He’s there for five days before they take him away. Tiago wakes up every morning like clockwork at 7 just so he can call James at 11 PM London time, although he knows that he could call at 4 AM and James would pick up on the first ring. When Tiago’s off on assignment, James never really sleeps.

On the fifth day, James can hear the loneliness in Tiago’s voice. “I miss you,” Tiago says, his voice muffled against the receiver, and for a moment James feels like he’s right there beside him despite being six thousand miles away.

“I miss you too.” He falls silent, straining to hear Tiago breathing on the other line.

Tiago’s voice sounds funny when he finally speaks again. “How are things back home?”

James smiles weakly. “Boring, without you... but I might have an opportunity to do a solo assignment. Brooks mentioned it to me today.”

“That’s great!” Tiago replies, and James can tell that he’s genuinely happy. “When?”

“A month. Singapore,” James says, turning to glance out the window. It’s dark and cold out, and the windowpanes are streaked with raindrops. He shivers.

“You should be proud,” Tiago murmurs, and James wants to be with him so badly that he can barely breathe.

“Thank you,” James replies finally, forcing himself to sound upbeat. “You should ask to come with me,” he adds, half-serious.

Tiago chuckles, the sound endearing even through the tinny audio of James’s cell phone. “It’s your first solo mission, James. I won’t ruin it for you.”

James smiles, pictures Tiago’s face. “Maybe I want you to.”

\--

They hang up an hour later, Tiago saying goodbye in his usual affectionate manner. James would never admit how much he likes it.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow… _te quiero, ¿sabes_?”

James smiles, reluctant to put down the phone. “I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

\--

He doesn’t.

\--

Weeks, months, years afterwards, James wonders the same thing. If he had known this was the last time he would hear Tiago’s voice, what would he have said?

\--

 _I should have said I loved you_ , James whispers to the empty coffin at Tiago’s memorial service.

His cheeks are dry. He can’t cry. He can’t feel anything at all.

\--

After Hong Kong, nothing is the same. James isn’t the same. He isn’t James; not anymore. Now he’s just Bond: an empty shell in a fancy suit.

Sometimes he calls Tiago’s cell number, making sure that it’s 11PM on the dot. He doesn’t know why he expects an answer.

_This line has been disconnected._

He feels dead. He drinks himself into oblivion to keep it that way.

\--

Time passes, and the raw anguish fades into a deep, dull ache that James is almost able to hide from the rest of the world. The loneliness only shows itself in the ghostly hours of the morning, when all James can do is pour himself a glass of _Licor Cuarenta y Tres_ and bury his head in his hands.

He visits the MI6 memorial wall on Tiago’s birthday, running his fingers over the name engraved in cool granite. He imagines Tiago lying in an unmarked grave somewhere, and he feels hot bile rising in his throat.

\--

It’s years until he feels almost normal again.

James doesn’t know when he decided that it was easier to forget, but pretending Tiago never existed is better than reliving his death every day.

\--

Vesper is his second chance, he thinks.

 When she dies, James realizes that she was never really his to lose. He can’t help but think of Tiago, the long gone-face resurfacing in his mind, and James makes a silent promise to never let anyone into his heart again.

“The bitch is dead,” he says to M, his voice an iron vise. Regret is unprofessional.

\--

It’s almost fitting that when James and Tiago meet again, they are completely different people. So different, in fact, that James doesn’t recognize him at all- not that he would ever allow himself to. Vesper never came back, his parents never came back, so why would he expect Tiago to? James doesn’t believe in ghosts, and he certainly doesn’t believe in miracles. If you could call Tiago’s survival a miracle.

Tiago-- Silva, now-- has been expecting James for weeks. In another life he might have been nervous, but lately he can’t bring himself to care about anything other than M. Like James, time has worn him down and petrified his heart- or what was left of it after Hong Kong. The pain has dulled, of course, but it is nevertheless a constant in his life: a cold, ragged ache in his chest that consumes his thoughts and gives him purpose.

Silva watches the agent walk through the streets of his island on the blurry screen of a security feed, his face unreadable. James is… old. Broken-looking. Something stirs inside Silva’s chest and he snaps the laptop closed, smoothing back a white-blonde lock of hair from his forehead. This is not part of the plan. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, reminding himself that he can’t let the past get in the way of the present: this is between him and M, and nobody else.

Not even the man he left behind fifteen years ago.

 Although he knows that it’s only a matter of time until James finds out who he really is… or was.

\--

James is so lost-looking, so fragile under that poker face, that Silva suddenly has the urge to tear him apart. He ties him to a chair, looks him straight in the eye and _dares_ him to recognize a shred of his former self.

“My grandmother had an island,” he says airily, wondering if such a blatant hint will be enough to call back old ghosts. James knows everything about his past; they even visited that island together. _It was a paradise for us..._ but that was a long time ago.

Playfully, Silva runs his hands down James’s thighs. Testing him. “What’s the regulation to cover this?” he goads, wondering when cracks will begin to show in the agent’s façade. James simply smirks.

“What makes you think this is my first time?”

Silva almost loses it then. He pushes himself away from the other man, feeling his innards turn to ice. “Oh, Mr. Bond!” he says conspiratorially, the perfect amount of breathiness in his voice. He’s an excellent actor, even though in this moment he only wants to take James by the shoulders and shake him. Scream at him. _Why don’t you remember?_

Silva almost _wants_ James to recognize him; wants him to hurt the way he’s been hurting for the past decade. His chest feels tight and he doesn’t know why. This man should mean nothing to him. This is the man who forgot him; the man who became the agent he should have been. Silva struggles to keep the hate out of his voice as James meets his eyes, obvious disdain on the agent’s face. 

This isn’t his James; not the man he knew before Hong Kong. “Well, everyone needs a hobby,” the agent drawls after Silva’s carefully constructed speech, and Silva can’t help the look of contempt that flashes across his face. In one careless comment, James has reduced his pursuit into something… petty. Self-absorbed. His lip curls and he knows he’s lost composure. 

Silva schools his expression into a semblance of sanity and looks the agent directly in the eye, searching for any shred of the man he once knew. He wonders if there’s anything at all. “So what’s yours?” he finally asks, unable to keep the flat affect from creeping through.

“Resurrection,” James spits, and Silva is torn between wanting to laugh and shoot him dead on the spot. This man knows _nothing_ of resurrection.


	2. Chapter 2

James doesn’t know what to think of Silva. All he knows is that he’s tired; so tired of men who want to destroy the world for nothing. Tired of the apathy and greed. This one is just like the others, even if he’s dressed like a gentleman.

He struggles to keep the grimace off his face as the cyberterrorist talks. Everything about this man seems unnatural: his hair, his eyes, even his perfect white teeth. “Just point and click,” Silva says, and James wants to ask him _why?_ Why hate those who have done nothing to you? 

Silva moves closer, shifting his chair up against James so that one expensively clothed leg is wedged between his thighs. James struggles to keep his composure as the man unbuttons his shirt, tracing a cool fingertip across his collarbone. He doesn’t want this; doesn’t like the way Silva’s getting inside his head.

“What makes you think this is my first time?” he quips, and he can’t keep the smile from his lips at Silva’s obvious surprise. This man doesn’t know him as well as he thinks he does- and no, it’s not a bluff. Although he hasn’t been with another man since… well, since Tiago. James pushes the thought aside. Now isn’t the time for those memories to resurface.

\--

Silva kills Sévérine just to see if he can feel something other than anger. He can’t. He watches her crumple against the rock and smiles, although he regrets the scotch spilled at her feet. “What do you say to that?” he asks James happily, wondering if the agent is as apathetic as he seems.

“It’s a waste of good scotch,” the agent responds, but only after a barely noticeable pause. The first crack, Silva thinks, and considers the possibility that James might have some humanity left in him after all.

James’s surprise attack on his guards is impressive, although Silva saw it coming a mile away. He feigns shock, stepping backwards as the agent approaches him with a handgun trained between his eyes.

“What are you going to do now?” he spits, his mouth caught somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “Take me back to her? All on your own?”

But that’s exactly what he wants. As the helicopters descend, he almost feels whole again.

\--

They put him in a glass cage; stare at him like a sideshow act. Silva decides to play the unsettling card, smirking at the guards on duty and laughing up at the security cameras when they ignore him. He feels shaky, unstable, like his world has been irreparably changed. Which it has: finally, after 15 years, he’s been found again. He hears the guards mutter something about M coming to see him, and he almost falls off his seat in excitement. _What will she do? What will she say?_  

Will he still be her favorite?

Finally, after hours of unbearable tension, the doors open and James walks in. Silva stiffens, lifting his eyes to regard the agent cautiously. James’s face is utterly impassive, and he stands with his arms cross and his legs planted firmly on the ground. Defensive. Silva swallows the lump in his throat, realizing that James still has no idea who he is. He can’t believe that they haven’t told him yet.

James clears his throat and speaks, his voice cool and flat-sounding. “M’s on her way. Do try to behave yourself.”

Silva just stares at him wordlessly, his lip curling as he assesses the agent’s appearance. James looks good, if a bit worn around the edges. Perhaps he caught a few hours of sleep before coming in today. But there’s something missing… the life in his eyes, maybe. His eyes really were beautiful, Silva thinks to himself, suppressing a flood of fond memories as he meets James’s light blue gaze. Just not as warm as they used to be.

He looks away, taking a deep breath as he attempts to organize his thoughts. Now that he’s about to see M, he realizes that he doesn’t really know what to say to her. If there’s anything to be said at all.

Minutes pass, and then Silva hears the doors slide open once again. _M._

His heart racing, he stares at his feet studiously, pretending not to see her at first. After a suitable pause he lifts his head, his eyebrows rising in faux surprise.

M is old. Still beautiful, of course, but now her hair is snowy white and her icy blue eyes are veiled with wrinkles. Silva is almost surprised at how harmless she looks. “You are smaller than I remember!” he says with a huff of laughter, turning on his seat to peer down at her.

M doesn’t smile, and Silva can’t ignore the pang in his chest as she regards him with undisguised contempt. “Whereas I bet you remember you were tall.”

He ignores the barb, although there’s a strange sense of panic rising in his throat. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. “Strange, for me it feels just like yesterday,” he murmurs, suppressing the vulnerability that comes shining through in his words. “Are you surprised?”

“Not particularly,” she says flatly, her voice cold and humorless. “But then again, you always were a slippery one.” Her eyes flash, and Silva feels as lost as he did 15 years ago, trapped in that tiny airless cell.

“Maybe that’s why you liked me so much,” he says. Desperate.

 _Please_ , he wills her. _Please, M. Don’t leave me again._

M’s face is blank; emotionless, and he knows it’s all over. “You flatter yourself.”

It’s all downhill from there. There’s no remorse in her eyes; nothing at all, really, and Silva feels his heart turn to ice. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

“Regret is unprofessional,” M says, and Silva can’t take it anymore.

The story finally comes tumbling out, shaky and incomplete after having been locked inside him for a decade and a half.  He knows he’s gone over the edge; knows he’s said too much, but he can’t seem to stop himself. His chest grows tight as M watches him impassively, her features immobile as he speaks those bitter words: “You betrayed me.” He glances over at James, who is silently standing off to the side. His face is expressionless, almost doll-like, but Silva can tell from the dark glint in the agent’s eyes that something is bothering him. His heart leaps into his throat: _does he know?_

His erratic thoughts are interrupted as M begins to speak again, her tone brisk and unapologetic. “Mr. Silva, you’re going to be transferred to Belmarsh Prison, where you’ll be remanded in custody…”

Her voice is drowned out by the pounding of blood in Silva’s ears. Slowly, he stands, digging his nails into his palms as he struggles to maintain composure.

But how can he stay calm when she won’t even say his name?

“Say my name. Say it,” he interrupts her, his voice strangled-sounding even to his own ears. “My real name.”

_Tiago. My name is Tiago._

He stares at her in a silent plea, all the confusion and hurt threatening to burst out from underneath his skin. _If you just say it, it can be over_ , he wants to tell her. _I forgive you._

But she doesn’t say it. And she’s walking away, and all is lost. Silva’s window of opportunity is closing before his eyes, and all he can do is call out to her one last time.

“Do you know what it does to you? Hydrogen cyanide?” His voice is raw and angry, and he knows that this is the final card he has to play. Dropping to his knees, Silva roughly jabs his hands in his mouth and pulls on his upper teeth, the dentures detaching from bone with a sickly pop. He feels his face collapsing on itself as he pulls out the prosthesis and cradles it in his palm, shining with saliva.

“Look upon your work… mother,” he rattles, and his voice is horrible. Inhuman.

M just stares at him, and for a moment he thinks he’s won when he sees a flicker of horror flash across her face.

And then it’s gone, and she turns away. He knows that it’s for the last time.

The doors slide shut, and he’s left alone in his cell again: a man without a face.

What can he do now?

Silva slips the prosthesis back into his jaw, letting out a muffled sigh as it clicks into place over his crumbling teeth. Resurrection, indeed.

He wants to cry, but for some reason all he can do is laugh. 


	3. Chapter 3

James follows M out of the detainment room, feeling utterly shaken. M, however, appearing composed as per usual, immediately begins rattling off orders to him and Tanner.

“Let me know what you recover from his computers,” she says without a backwards look, her voice anything but rattled. “Yes, ma’am,” James murmurs.

He can’t help but cast a glance over his shoulder, staring at the hunched figure silhouetted against the frosted glass of the sliding doors. At this point, he doesn’t know what to think any more.

And then M suddenly turns to face him, and in this moment she looks older than ever. Her face is pinched in on itself, and her voice is oddly subdued when she finally speaks.

“His name is Tiago Rodriguez.”

James’s world stops turning.

She’s talking, but her words are meaningless. James pretends to listen to her with a glassy expression on his face, his stomach turning to ice as she speaks. Finally she finishes: “…and we got six agents in return, and a peaceful transition.” James nods, struggling to stay upright.

_No. This can’t be happening._

His stomach suddenly lurches at the memory of the ex-agent removing his teeth. Tiago shouldn’t be alive.

He can see it in her eyes: she doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what Tiago meant to him. Fifteen years ago, M barely knew James’s name, let alone his personal relationships- she couldn’t have realized what he had lost when Tiago was captured.

His stomach drops as he realizes that he can’t let her find out. Ever.

“We should go, ma’am,” Tanner says finally, and the moment is over.

“I want to know what’s on that computer,” M says after a pause, her face composed again. For a second she looks like she wants to say something else, but instead she turns and follows Tanner down the hall, leaving James alone.

\--

James stands frozen in the hallway, paralyzed with indecision.

His first instinct is to run away and never look back: years ago, he told himself that he would never let anyone in again. And this is… he isn’t sure if he wants this.

Tiago is obviously so different- James isn’t even sure if he’s sane. He wonders if Tiago hates him. He probably does, given that James didn’t even recognize him.

 _It would be so easy to just leave_ , he thinks to himself. _End what should have died fifteen years ago._

And yet something is holding him back, preventing him from leaving this door unopened. Could he really be so cruel as to deny both of them closure?

James pictures Tiago on the last day that he saw him. He was so… happy. Nothing like the man locked in the glass cage just a few doors away. But what if Tiago was still in there somewhere?

_What if he could talk to him one last time?_

“Who am I kidding,” James murmurs to himself, turning towards the detainment room. Tiago was his whole life. Still is, in a way, even after all these years.

\--

The glass doors slide open, and James is surprised to see Silva sitting with his head in his hands. He falters, unsure of how to approach the man when confronted with this undeniable crack in his façade.

But the moment is gone just a split second later when Silva quickly raises his face, hearing James’s footsteps on the cool concrete floor. He smiles disconcertingly and cracks his neck, stretching his arms above his head.

“Agent Bond. What a lovely surprise,” he says, and his expression is so distinctly unpleasant that James wants to forget the whole thing and walk right out.

But something stops him. Silently, James motions at the security guard to leave them alone- this is a conversation best had in private.

Silva stares at him quizzically, obviously awaiting some kind of explanation.

James opens his mouth and then falters, suddenly aware that he has absolutely no idea what to say. He admits it: Silva intimidates him, and even now when they’re standing face to face, he’s struggling to see any fragment of the man he once was. _Where can he even begin?_

Silva watches him, amused. But as seconds pass with James still struggling to find the right words, gradually the smug smile drops from his face and is replaced by a look of uncertainty.

Finally James speaks, his voice oddly small and hoarse-sounding:

“I know who you are.”

Silva inhales sharply and closes his eyes. James’s words are so simple; so blunt, and yet he doesn’t know how to respond. How does this man still affect him so after a decade and a half?

“So you figured it out,” he finally murmurs. “I was starting to think that you wouldn’t.”

James shifts on the spot, almost afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Tiago,” he finally whispers, the word slipping unbidden from his mouth as easily as it had 15 years ago. Silva stiffens, an unreadable mix of emotions flickering across his face.

And then James knows what he wants to say.

“I know that things are different now,” he begins, his voice gaining strength as he speaks. “But please, just for tonight, let’s… forget. Please.” His face crumples, and he turns away, not wanting to look Silva in the eyes.

Silva watches him, features contorted in pain. “James…” He raises a hand and presses it against the glass wall of his prison, the long fingers splayed out on the smooth surface. “Look at me." 

James raises his eyes to meet Silva’s gaze, and he notices something that hadn’t been there moments before. He’s vulnerable.

“Can you come in?” Silva asks after a pause, his voice almost shy. “Don’t worry, I’ll erase the security feed.” His face is suddenly so earnest; so hopeful that James can only see the man he once loved. _Still loves_ , his mind whispers, and James can’t seem to push the thought away. Still loves.

“Okay.”

James presses his palm to the scanning pad on the cell wall, and the doors slide open soundlessly. For a moment the two men stare at each other, unsure of what to do or say.

Then Silva takes a tentative step forward, and James can’t hold back any longer. He’s closing the gap between their bodies and then he’s embracing Silva, feeling the warmth of his body and the way he smells and the reassuring beat of his heart. Silva makes a strangled sound and James buries his face in his shoulder, his chest unbearably tight.

“I’ve missed you. So much,” Silva whispers, and James isn’t sure if this is real or a dream any more. He pulls back and takes Silva’s face in his hands, noticing that even under the contacts and hair dye and facial surgery, there is still something familiar. Something that couldn’t be extinguished, even after all these years. He’s so happy that he could cry.

But there’s a nagging doubt at the back of his mind, pressing insistently into his thoughts. _Be rational_ , an insistent voice whispers through his head. _Are you really going to believe him this easily?_

 “How…” James falters. He tries again, his voice fragile-sounding. “How can I know it’s really you?” Because it can’t be Tiago, it just can’t. Not after all this time.

Silva looks away, a hurt look flashing across his face. “You don’t trust me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…” Guilt settles over him. “It’s like this is a dream or something. I don’t know.”

Silva smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know what you mean. This doesn’t feel quite real for me either.”

And then he’s unzipping the front of his jumpsuit, pulling aside the plain white shirt to reveal a tanned chest mottled with scar tissue.

“Look,” he murmurs, pointing to a thin white scar in the middle of his sternum. “From Malawi. 1995. It was a machete- you remember, right?”

James catches his breath, reaching out almost unconsciously to touch the faded mark. “I helped you change the bandages,” he whispers, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

James can’t help but glance at the other old wounds on Silva’s chest, the bumpy slices across his skin the result of many botched stitch jobs. “It really is you,” he whispers, the words almost inaudible. He brushes his finger over a cluster of cigarette burns and shudders.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” James hears himself say, and his voice is all wrong; muffled and raw-sounding.

Silva looks down, the pain in his eyes all too obvious. “I know. I’m sorry too. You don’t have to say anything else,” he murmurs, taking James into his arms again and lining his forehead against the agent’s own in a gesture that feels painfully familiar.

James presses his face into Silva’s neck, and Tiago suddenly registers a strange sensation of wetness on his cheeks. He realizes that he’s crying, and he wants to laugh because he hasn’t cried in 15 years.

“I thought you forgot about me,” he whispers, the sound echoing ragged and too real in the small space.

James smiles, and it’s utterly out of place on his broken face. “I couldn’t forget you. Even if I tried.”

They hold each other for a while, and it’s almost the same as it was.

James wants nothing more but to preserve this moment, capture it and keep it in a jar so that it can never fly away. But there’s something nagging at the back of his mind, a long-dormant anger that’s clouding his thoughts and making it hard to breathe.

Finally he breaks the embrace and speaks again, his voice oddly stiff. “It’s been fifteen years, Tiago. That’s… that’s a long time. Too long. How could you let me think you were dead?” The words hang heavily over them, raw and all too real.

Silva looks down, and James can see him clenching his jaw.

When he meets his eyes again, his face is flat and closed-off. “People change, James,” he says quietly, unable to fully conceal the despair in his voice. “After China, I wasn’t... the same. I’m still not the same. I lost part of myself there, and I don’t think I’ll ever get it back.” He pauses, lost in memory.

“You have to understand that I didn’t want that for you,” he continues, his eyes impossibly dark. “I wanted you to move on, forget about me. After what she did to me, I didn’t want to love anyone ever again. You’ve seen me, James. You’ve seen what they did to me,” and James shudders, recalling the sight of his caved-in jaw.

“I didn’t think you would want me any more,” he finishes plainly, the words cutting into James like a blade.

And James understands.

“But I do want you,” he whispers, reaching out a tentative hand to brush against Silva’s left cheek. He feels the unyielding ridge of metal beneath the skin, but he doesn’t flinch. “How could I not?”

Silva smiles, but his face is tinged with pain. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

James drops his hand. “Why?”

“Because you know that this--this isn’t real. We can’t live like this, James… in the shadows.” Silva swallows, his face somber now. “You have your job and I have mine. You know what I came here to do… hmm?”

James feels a sickly panic rising in his chest. “No. It doesn’t have to be that way. You could stop now, couldn’t you? And we could… we could have a chance to be…” he trails off, his words sounding small and ineffective.

“Stop, James,” Silva whispers, taking both of James’s wrists in his hands and holding them tightly. “You know that’s not true. We chose different paths a long time ago… they just happen to be crossing now."

He gives James a weak smile. “Besides, what is a double-oh without a villain to chase?”

James chuckles despite the feeling that his heart has turned to ice. But soon his face grows serious, and he looks at Silva with a renewed urgency.

“You do know that they want me to kill you,” he says quietly, all of the humor gone from his voice.

Silva nods. “Yes, I know.”

“What should I do? I can’t…”

Silva hushes him, pressing a cool finger against his lower lip.

“I certainly hope that you try your best, Mr. Bond,” he murmurs, suddenly playful, but the warmth has gone out of his eyes. James realizes that the glimpse of Tiago is over.

“Although I must warn you, I don’t die easily.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nsfw.

They stand in silence in the glass cage, just looking at each other. Minutes pass. Finally, Silva speaks, his voice low and careful.

“You should go, James.” He reaches out and takes James’s clammy hand in his own warm grip, squeezing it gently. 

James swallows and looks away. He doesn’t want to leave, because then… what does he have left?

Silva seems to read his mind. “Somehow I doubt that this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

James meets his eyes, seeing a mischievous glint behind the strange dark contacts. “Oh? You’re planning on escaping?” he replies, although there isn’t a doubt in his mind that Silva has something up his sleeve.

“If I told you that, then it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting,” Silva says, a smirk on his lips. 

\-- 

Before he walks out of the detainment room, James can’t help but glance over his shoulder. Silva gives him a tiny wave from where he’s sitting on his metal bench, his face unreadable. “Double oh-seven.”

James turns away without another word, his heart in his throat. 

He wishes he hadn’t come. Because how can he kill the man he loves?

\--

The glass doors slide closed, and James is at a loss.

He can barely remember the orders M had given him only a short while ago. _Check his computer?_ he thinks hazily, trying to ignore the vivid memory of Silva’s warm body and the way his face changed when he said his real name. _Tiago._

“Pull yourself together,” James mutters to himself, pushing away the distracting thoughts. Now isn’t the time to go soft.

He forces himself to walk over to Q-branch, where Tanner and Q have already begun inspecting the contents of Silva’s laptop.

James is distracted- that is, until Q zeroes in on the word “Granborough.”

“Try that one,” James says, remembering how Tiago always got on at that station when taking the tube to MI6.

Layers of code unfurl gorgeously on the high-res screen like an intricate web of arteries. James can’t help but marvel at the skill needed to create such a complex network.

“Subterranean London,” he murmurs, almost in awe as his eyes sweep over the shifting red mass.

And then, without warning, the Plexiglas doors on the Q-branch floor slowly spring open with a faint hiss. For a moment, James is confused. He turns to face Q, who has an equally bemused expression on his normally composed features. And then he realizes: _Silva._

James starts to run.

Shoving aside confused interns, he tears his way down to the interrogation chamber. James enters the detainment room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The glass cage is empty: he’s gone. He steps over the unconscious body of one of the guards, wondering how Silva had done it.

Tiago was always so smart, even dangerously so. James feels strangely proud that he had managed to escape, although he knows he shouldn’t.

And then he sees the metal grate on the floor, lying open to expose MI6’s subterranean underbelly.

“Shit,” James mutters to himself. He’s got a chase ahead of him.

Sighing, he begins to climb down into the depths. The metal ladder is cold and slick in his hands, and he almost slips as his feet scramble for purchase on the first few steps.

He twists his head around, straining to see into the darkness as he descends. And then he sees it: a flash of blonde hair and khaki jumpsuit, disappearing just out of his line of sight a dozen meters below him. He hears the quick patter of footsteps, growing fainter as Silva races further into the cavern.

“Tiago!” he calls desperately, his voice echoing against the cold stone walls.

“Please,” he adds, quieter now. “Just let me talk to you.”

The footsteps slow, and then there is silence.

James finally reaches the bottom of the ladder and hops out onto the filthy cement floor, cursing as stagnant water puddles around his shoes.

He pauses for a moment and listens intently, but there is nothing to be heard. If he didn’t know that Silva was somewhere in the shadows waiting for him, he might have thought that he was alone.

James carefully picks his way across the uneven floor, checking his pocket for his Walther. He hopes he doesn’t have to use it.

“Tiago,” he whispers, the name cutting through the thick silence like a knife.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of movement, and then Silva’s stepping out of the darkness to face him, his blonde hair almost green in the eerie lighting. His eyes are wary.

“Are you going to shoot me, James?” he murmurs, his eyes flickering to James’s hand, which is unconsciously moving towards his gun.

James looks down at his hand and drops it, a conflicted expression settling on his features.

“No. I don’t know. I’m supposed to.” He looks down, almost ashamed.

“I told you to go, James,” Silva says quietly, but his words sound unsure. “What do you want?”

James swallows hard, wondering if his words will ever be enough. “I just wanted to see you again,” he tries, his voice oddly small. “You know that if you’re planning on killing her, then they’ll try to kill you first. I have to kill you first,” he says plainly, watching Silva’s face intently. “This might be the last time that we…” He trails off, the implications of his words obvious.

Silva closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, his face appearing impassive. But when he opens his eyes again, James can clearly see the anger and guilt warring within.

“I know,” he says bleakly. “But I don’t want to think about it.”

He looks so lost that James only wants to put his arms around him. Instead he looks at the ground, afraid to voice what he’s really feeling. “I don’t know what to do.”

They are quiet for a while, the only sound the faint dripping of water off the stone walls.

“Come here,” Silva murmurs finally, so softly that James almost doesn’t hear.

Like a moth to a flame, James slowly bridges the gap to stand in front of Silva, so close that he can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Almost tentatively, Silva reaches out a hand to touch the side of James’s face.

“James,” he whispers, tracing a finger down his neck and around the dip of his collarbone. James realizes that he’s touching him exactly the way he did just a day earlier on the island, but this time it feels different. Less threatening, and more tender. “Why do you do this to me?" 

“I should be asking you the same thing,” James replies with a smile, and then he takes Silva’s face in his hands and kisses him.

At first Silva’s lips are soft, almost shy, but soon he leans into the kiss with a tiny moan and presses his body flush against James’s, his mouth hot and sweet.

James growls and takes Silva by the collar, pulling him even closer so that one of his legs is wedged between Silva’s own. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants as Silva grinds against him, realizing that he’s suddenly harder than he’s been in years.

Silva buries his face in James’s neck, trailing kisses against the overheated skin and pressing his tongue against James’s throat. “I’m so scared of losing you,” he whispers into James’s shoulder, and the words are so quiet that James isn’t sure if Silva meant to say them out loud.

There’s something building inside James’s chest; lust, or maybe desperation- he isn’t sure which- and he wants to touch every inch of Silva’s skin. To memorize the way he smells, memorize the texture of every scar. “God,” he chokes out as Silva sucks on his bottom lip, momentarily breaking the kiss to catch his breath. “If we’re going to go on like this… I’m not known for my self control.”

Silva chuckles, running a hand through James’s closely cropped hair. “That’s why I like you.” He leans in to bite at James’s neck, and at the same time James feels a deft hand slip down to cup his growing erection.

James groans as Silva sucks at his bruising skin, canting his hips into the unbearably gentle touch.

And then Silva’s pushing him backwards until his back is flush against a dry patch of wall, the cool smoothness of the stone making him shiver through his suit.

“You taste as good as I remember,” Silva murmurs against the side of James’s mouth as he claims his lips again, his tongue teasing against James’s own as he wraps one strong arm around the agent’s waist.

James gasps as he feels Silva swiftly undo the closure of his pants, pulling aside the fabric and exposing his swollen cock to the cool tunnel air.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Silva whispers into his neck as he wraps a warm hand around James’s thickly veined shaft, pre-come beading from the tip at the experienced touch. “Thought about what I would say to you. What I would do to you,” and James shivers at the implications of his words.

“Tiago,” James moans as Silva’s thumb swipes over his sensitive tip, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His nerve endings feel like they’re on fire.

“Say my name again,” Silva commands quietly, closing his eyes as he wraps his fingers tighter around James’s length. “I want to remember how it sounds.”

“Tiago,” James gasps, and the pressure is almost too much but it’s so good and he never wants it to stop.

“Again,” Silva whispers.

“ _Tiago_ ,” James shudders, and with a cry he’s coming into Silva’s hand, arching his back and spilling hot and wet over his palm as the relentless fingers ghost over his skin.

He realizes that he’s shaking, and Silva pulls him in closer and presses a kiss against his damp forehead. “Beautiful,” Silva murmurs into his hair, reaching into James’s chest pocket to pull out his handkerchief.

James shivers as Silva gently cleans him off, the fabric silky and cool against his oversensitive skin. Silva tucks him back inside his trousers and zips up the closure, straightening James’s tie fondly when he’s done.

James presses into him for another kiss, pulling Silva against him and lightly biting his lower lip. He can feel Silva painfully hard against him, and he’s suddenly buzzing with desire to claim him. To make him feel good.

James takes Silva by his collar and pulls him around so that his own back is pushed up against the wall, putting him in the same position he had been in only moments before.

“James,” Silva moans, clutching at the agent’s hair as he slowly unzips his jumpsuit. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to,” James whispers, palming Silva’s straining cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. Silva shudders beneath him, his head falling backwards onto the wall.

James hurriedly pulls aside Silva’s plain cloth boxers, sighing as his flushed erection falls free into his hands.

James smoothly sinks to his knees, glancing up at Silva with a loaded expression on his face.

Silva shivers as James’s hot breath washes over his cock, canting his hips up involuntarily.

“Shh,” James murmurs absentmindedly, breathing in the clean scent of musk. Teasingly, he laves his tongue over the darkening tip of Silva’s length, smiling as the other man tenses beneath him. He slowly works his way down to the hilt, pressing kisses and slowly licking over a vein when he reaches the bottom. Silva lets out a strangled moan, his hands grasping at the fabric of James’s suit.

James decides that it’s time to show mercy and, grinning, wraps his lips around Silva’s swollen tip before fully taking him in his mouth. Silva shudders beautifully, arching his back as James’s throat tightens around his length.

“ _No te detengas_ ,” Silva groans, and James hums lightly around his cock. He tightens his grip on James’s shoulders, his face flushed and his pupils wide with arousal.

“James,” he warns weakly, “if you don’t stop now, I’m going to--” His words are cut off as James darts out his tongue to lave the underside of his length.

Silva’s hips stutter and then he comes hard with a moan, his eyes closing in bliss as James swallows his hot release.

“ _Díos_ , James,” he laughs as the agent gently swipes his cock clean with his tongue, his lips pink and swollen.

James zips him up again and stands up with a smile, his knees sore after kneeling on the stone floor. Silva gazes at him for a moment, almost as if he’s searching for something in the lines of his face, and then he pulls James in for another kiss.

“You... you are everything to me,” Silva whispers against James’s lips, his hands meeting behind the agent’s neck to pull him closer. He grins as James pushes him further up against the wall, baring his throat for Silva to claim.

For a while they stay like that, exploring each other like they’re young again.

“What’s happened to us, Tiago?” James finally murmurs, entwining his fingers in Silva’s blonde curls. Silva smiles faintly against his neck. “I don’t know.”

And then the expression of bliss begins to fade off of Silva’s face, leaving behind only desolation. He slowly pulls out of the embrace, one hand resting lightly on James’s chest to keep him from coming closer.

“James,” Silva says quietly, taking the agent’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “We can’t let this go on.”

James sighs, the sound echoing desperate in the empty space. “I know. I just can’t let you go, can I?” He laughs, quiet and bitter. 

“You have to.” Silva’s looking at him intently, his eyes hopeless yet coldly determined. “This... what we have… it’s just old ghosts, James. You know it can’t last.” He traces a finger over James’s wrist, feeling the tendons and the gentle pulse beneath. Silva’s eyes burn, and he looks down.

“I’m afraid of what I’m about to do,” he says quietly, his voice muffled-sounding.

James cups a hand underneath Silva’s chin, raising his face so that they’re standing eye to eye. “Listen to me, Tiago. I need you to hear what I’m saying.”

He swallows, trying to organize his thoughts into speech. He never thought he’d need to have the words for this. 

“I’m going to let you go,” he says plainly, watching Silva’s eyes. “It’s your choice now. You can leave, or you can go through with it… but you’ve got to understand. If you’re going to hurt M, I will have to kill you.”

Silva’s face is unreadable. A faint smile twitches at the corner of his lips, and he looks away again. James doesn’t know what it means.

“Thank you, James,” Silva murmurs finally, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Close your eyes,” he whispers against James’s lips, and James does it obediently even though he knows what’s coming.

When he opens them again, Silva is gone.

James feels the sickly panic rising inside him again, and he frantically looks around him for any sign of life. He doesn't know what he's expecting to find.

“ _Tiago!_ ” he shouts blindly into the darkness, his voice echoing loud and raw against the stone walls. “ _What are you going to do?_ ”

The silence is suffocating.


	5. Chapter 5

Silva digs his nails into his palms as he hears the agent’s shouts faintly emanate down the stone tunnel. He presses his back against the wall and bites down hard on his lip, the pain and sudden taste of iron helping to clear his thoughts. For a moment he wonders what would happen if he left this whole doomed pursuit behind and turned back. Back to his James. The thought makes him smile. 

But of course he can’t. What James doesn’t understand is that he’s dead either way, with or without killing M. Even if he decided to stay, the madness would destroy him eventually, and what would James think of him then?

“I’m sorry,” Silva murmurs, forcing himself to turn away. He wonders if James knows how far gone he really is.

\--

Silva makes it out of the tunnels quickly, making up for lost time when James caught up with him. He feels more rat-like than ever as he rounds the final turn, creeping out from the rusty maintenance door and into the artificial yellow light of the subway station. His prisoner’s jumpsuit is conspicuous, but no matter- he’s already thought of that.

Casually he accepts the cardboard box containing a police uniform from two of his mercenaries, resisting the urge to laugh at the ease of it all. He had sent out the signal as soon as he broke through MI6’s safeguards, and now here they were, waiting with his disguise exactly as he had planned.

Of course, having 15 years to organize everything had been useful.

\--

For a moment he thinks he’s in the clear, once he’s changed into the uniform and made it onto the train amongst the throngs of Londoners coming and going from work. He sees James caught in the crowd on the tube platform, his features grim as he scans the masses for any sign of Silva’s face.

James’s face is grey with worry, and Silva swallows away the lump in his throat.

Then the car begins to move, and it’s too late- James is still on the platform. Silva realizes that he’s been holding his breath, and he lets it out in a rattling sigh.

 _Forget about James. Finish the job. And then… what then?_ In all his years of planning, he still hasn’t quite figured that out yet.

He wonders what his life will be like with M gone from it. There’s a part of him that doubts he’ll live to see it, but it doesn’t bother him. If anything, it will be a blessing. A reprieve.

Momentarily lost in thought, he almost doesn’t notice James entering the adjacent subway car and locking eyes with him from across the window between carriages- almost. Silva knows it’s him instantly, although he wonders how James managed to get on the train after it left the platform- his broad shoulders and unsettling blue eyes are impossible to miss anywhere. He looks away, feeling those eyes burn into his back. This will be inconvenient.

He knows he’s got to lose James again, and as soon as the train stops he’s sprinting, shoving his way through the crowds and towards the escalators on the other side of the station. If he can get into the tunnels again, he’ll be free.

But James is catching up- Silva is surprised at how fast he is, even after his latest resurrection. In a moment of irrationality he slides down the escalator railing, hitting the floor hard at the bottom and feeling his lip split beneath his teeth. It’s funny; ridiculous, really, and he laughs to himself as he slips into the massive crowd heading towards the next underpass. James is suddenly nowhere to be seen, and he feels a surreal sense of pride.

He slips through a service door, disappearing into the humid darkness of the tube tunnel once again. Just a short walk, and then he’ll be underneath the manhole cover that opens up two blocks away from the courthouse.

Silva smirks to himself. This time when he sees M, there won’t be a sheet of bulletproof glass keeping them apart.

\--

James finds him again as he’s climbing up the escape ladder, the metal cold and rough against his palms. James fires a shot, and the bullet buries itself in a wall nowhere near Silva’s body. It’s a warning, and Silva can’t help but feel a little flattered.

“I won’t miss next time, Mr. Silva,” James says, and his voice is cold.

Silva steels himself and puts on the mask, his eyes growing lazy and his lips curling in a condescending smirk. He’s developed this… _persona_ for years, as intricate and impenetrable as one of his computer programs. Experience has taught him that it’s always easier to deflect than to let people inside. Don’t show your cards.

He decides that humor is the best way to play this. Perhaps he can pretend that their earlier meeting didn’t happen.

“Not bad, James… for a physical wreck,” he taunts, noticing the way James’s face shuts down at his words. He looks disappointed.

And in that moment Silva almost gives up, because it’s too much to manipulate James this way. It’s cruel, really.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at his watch: 12:14 PM. _Perfect_ , he thinks vaguely- the 12:15 tube should be on its way.

He produces the remote control from his shirt pocket, careful not to accidentally push the button and detonate the bombs.

Of course, there had been no way to predict whether this would actually work- the bombs had only been a precaution, put in place months ago as an afterthought. But now, Silva thinks, they could be useful. Or at least entertaining.

“You caught me,” he laughs, breathless. “Now, here’s your prize.”

He presses the button, and a huge chunk of the stone ceiling shatters spectacularly to the ground in the tunnel space behind them. Bemused, James brushes a bit of rubble off the shoulder of his suit, and Silva fights back a smile.

“I do hope that wasn’t for me,” James quips, and Silva suddenly realizes that he’s playing the game too. It’s funny how so much can be covered up with a few glib words; a careless smile. 

They weren’t always like this.

“No,” Silva replies, a smile on his lips. “But that is.”

James glances around, his brow furrowed. There is nothing yet, but Silva can hear the rumble of the tube as it approaches their section of the tunnel.

And suddenly he wants to say something more, in case… in case this is the end. Because it very well might be.

He only has a few seconds, and his words are almost drowned out by the rattle of the approaching train, but he says it nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, James.”

James stiffens, and Silva knows he heard him.

“Until we meet again,” he murmurs, and without another word he begins to climb up the ladder again, a strange tightness at the back of his throat.

And then the sky falls.

\--

From there everything goes according to plan- at least until it’s time to pull the trigger. Silva’s men are waiting for him at the curb in a regulation police cruiser when he emerges from the manhole, and after he climbs in they head for the courthouse.  Silva’s face is expressionless as he loads several pistols; one to carry and two strapped to his body. Now that he’s finally come to the end, he feels strangely numb. He wonders what M’s face will look like in her last moments.

In his dreams, she always begs him not to do it.

He plays the scenario in his head over and over again as the car comes to a stop in front of the huge stone building, looming grey and ominous against the London sky. Silva leads the way inside, watching his henchmen efficiently shoot the clerks on duty without a second thought. Liabilities.

He can hear M’s voice as they approach the courtroom, faint yet distinguishable behind the thick oaken doors. He catches a few words just before they go inside:

“…to find, and not to yield.”

The phrase sounds familiar, but what is it? It feels important. _They are her last words, after all._

The thought makes him smile. And then he opens the doors, raising his gun automatically to eye level.

M is sitting front and center, her back to Silva so that only her snowy hair is visible. He fires a shot into the air without thinking, and she turns.

For a moment all he sees is a target. His hand is steady, his fingers hugging the trigger without shaking.

And then he looks into her eyes.

She is his life. His motivation. His hatred. The only woman he’s ever truly loved, apart from his grandmother.

And he can’t do it.

The gun wavers in his hand before he uselessly pulls the trigger, knowing that he’s a second too late- Mallory is already moving in front of M, obstructing her body and taking the shot in his arm instead.

Rage overwhelms him. _What is he doing?_ Silva wildly fires a succession of shots into the air as M takes cover behind a desk, his face contorting in fury.  Vaguely, he realizes that James is there, his face stony as he shoots his henchmen from across the room. Silva meets his eyes, and the betrayal he sees there makes him feel sick. Then James shoots the fire extinguishers and he’s gone, obscured behind a thick cloud of smoke. 

Silva’s gun clatters to the floor and he turns away, his head spinning as he slips out of the line of fire and leaves the building through a side door.

He might have lost his chance.

But this isn’t over.


	6. Chapter 6

There is a strange silence in the courtroom after the sounds of gunfire have faded. James feels icy and oddly boneless as he kneels behind the desk to face M, taking her cold hand in his own.

“Are you all right?” The panic in his voice is obvious, and he swallows.

“I’m fine, double-oh seven,” M says after a pause, but he can tell that she’s not. Her normally sharp blue eyes are dazed, and suddenly she doesn’t look so powerful anymore. She looks… old. Scared.

And then the moment is over, and M somehow snaps back to life.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She’s standing up, brushing gunpowder off her sensible black dress. “Is Mallory stable?”

James blinks, surprised, and glances behind him. Mallory is slumped against the wall, a dark blotch of blood spreading on his impeccable dress shirt. He’s obviously in pain, but his lips are still pink and he gives James a weak smile when he meets his eyes. “I’m all right.”

James turns and helps M to her feet. “He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

\--

He rushes M to the unobtrusive Buick idling at the curb, and as James speeds away from the courthouse he can hear the wail of police cruisers and ambulances surrounding the building. M looks out the window, her face tight. James doesn’t know what to say.

Suddenly there’s a short burst of static from his earpiece, which he’d turned off as soon as they entered the car. He’d needed his thoughts to be interrupted for the moment.

That’s odd, James thinks, but before he can reach up to take it out of his ear, someone begins to speak on the other line. And it’s not Q.

“James.”

_It’s Silva._

James’s breath hitches in his throat, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to vomit. He glances over at M frantically, imagining that she can hear the voice too, but she’s still lost in thought.

“Listen to me,” the voice continues urgently, and James feels like his chest is full of broken glass. “I… I don’t know what to say to you. I’m sorry. I’m tired of all this death.” Silva’s voice is plaintive, almost too sincere, and James doesn’t know what to believe anymore. _Tiago or Silva?_ How can he make decisions when he doesn’t even know who he’s listening to?

“Pay attention, James, because you and I both know that this isn’t over. I know you’re coming for me, but I don’t want it to be the way it was… in the courthouse.” Silva’s speech is rushed and his accent is more pronounced than usual, and James realizes how shaken he must be. He suddenly remembers that Tiago used to speak that way when he was upset, too.

“It has to be just you and me, in the end. And her. It has to be just you and me,” Silva repeats, and James imagines that he can hear remorse in his words.

There is a pause, and then static. And then nothing.

James removes the earpiece from his ear, knowing that Silva won’t speak to him again.

As he drives, he reconstructs the meaning of Silva’s ( _Tiago’s?_ ) words in his mind.

“It has to be just you and me, in the end.”

_I want you to stop me before I can hurt anyone else._

And what else is there to do but to let it happen? James isn’t naïve. Not anymore. After what happened at the courthouse, he knows that Silva will stop at nothing - _nothing_ \- to get what he wants. Silva would burn the world down if it meant he finally had M to himself. The only thing James can do is to contain the flames.

He knows he has to kill Silva. It will be a blessing for him to die, really, although the thought of being the one to pull the trigger makes him sick.

He knows this, but there’s still a tiny part of him that wants to believe it’s not true.

James tightens his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles ache. Finally he glances over at M, who turns away from the window to meet his gaze.

“Where are you taking me, double-oh seven?”

“Somewhere we can be alone.”

“And where is that?”

“Back in time.”

_\--_

Skyfall is so different from his memories.

As he clambers out of the Aston Martin and walks around to open the door for M, James suddenly realizes that the last time he came here was with Tiago.

It was 1996. Close to twenty years ago, but James hadn’t anticipated how much the estate has changed since then.  He pauses before walking towards the house, letting the memories wash over him.

When he and Tiago had visited, it was summertime, and he hadn’t been there since he had left to join the Navy. The house was a bit dusty and stale inside, but the grounds were beautiful and well-kept. Somehow, it still felt like home. Tiago loved it, loved knowing everything about James and where he had come from.

Now, the main house looms before him like a giant crypt, the stone walls crumbling and overgrown with ivy at the bottoms. It’s cold, and the damp wind from the moors stings his eyes and makes James wrap his pea coat tighter around himself.

“Not exactly welcoming, is it?” remarks M, her voice bringing James back from his memories.

He allows himself a small laugh. “No, not really.”

They walk inside- by some small miracle, James still has the key- and are greeted by dirty floorboards and clusters of sheet-covered antiques. It’s freezing, and the fireplace is empty. The air is thick and there’s a distinct scent, which James instantly identifies as the moldering smell of an old church. Westminster Cathedral, maybe. He doesn’t know why he recognizes it. He hasn’t been to church in years.

James isn’t sure how to feel. He never thought he’d come back here, after he lost Tiago, and it feels wrong.

“Let’s,” he starts, but his voice sounds odd and he clears his throat.

“Let’s take a look around. I don’t know if there’s anything useful left.”

M gives him a look but then just nods and follows him. James suspects she knows that something’s bothering him, but he’s certain that she won’t press him about it. M has always been tactful about that sort of thing.

His initial thought is to head for the gun cabinet. Andrew Bond was an avid gun collector, and James thinks that most of them should be in working condition- that is, until they enter the parlor and he sees that the cabinet is empty.

He curses under his breath, but not loud enough for M to hear. “Well, the guns are gone.”

M’s brows furrow momentarily. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t sell them…” He trails off. "We might as well check the bedroom.”

They round the corner into the master bedroom and James stops in his tracks, but it’s not because of the guns. In fact, the room is almost empty save for the huge oaken bed and the dusty armoire on the other side. That’s not what matters.

What matters is what happened here nearly twenty years ago, and the memories that are now hitting James with an almost physical pain.

James looks away. This is where he and Tiago spent every night when they were visiting, the chilly nighttime air no match for the warmth of their entwined bodies and the ratty old blanket James had dredged out from somewhere in the attic. Those had been the best nights of his life, really.

The first day there, they had gone for a walk across the moors and then decided to swim in the lake once the sun was at its highest. The water was freezing, and Tiago kept dunking him whenever he let his guard down. That night they built a fire in the great room and stayed up until dawn as Tiago slowly coaxed James into telling him everything about his childhood.

When it came to the part about his parents dying, Tiago fell silent, the flames from the fireplace lending his tanned skin a deep orange glow. 

“What do you imagine your life would be like, if they were alive now?” Tiago had asked, and shifted to lay his head in James’s lap. Tiago was the only person James would ever tolerate doing that, although James would never admit it.

“I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t be in MI6,” James had said after a pause, and absentmindedly carded a hand through Tiago’s too-long hair.

Tiago leaned into the touch. “Mm. What would they think if they knew who you are now?”

James had laughed a little then. “You always ask the most difficult questions.”

“I have to. You don’t like small talk.”

“True,” James said, and then he leaned in to brush his lips against Tiago’s own. “Well, I’m not sure how they would take it if they knew we were sleeping in their bed tonight,” he murmured into Tiago’s hair, a smirk playing on his lips.

Tiago smiled up at him. “Are you suggesting that we go to bed now?”

And they had gone to bed, and it was perfect in more ways than James would ever let Tiago know. Most obviously because they fit together so well; because they knew each other’s bodies better than anyone else. But also because for James, it was giving the house a new meaning. Making it more than just the place where he had lost both his parents and his childhood.

When they were finished and lying in each other’s arms, James had almost wanted to thank him for that. For making the place bearable again. But he didn’t know how to say it, and so he just held Tiago tighter and pressed his face into his chest. And that had been enough.

\--

_“Bond.”_

M’s voice cuts through his reverie, and James realizes that he’s been standing there in silence for at least half a minute.

“Are you all right?”

James rubs his eyes with one hand and tries to forget.

“I’m fine,” he says, but he knows she’s not convinced. “Guess we’ll have to make our own weapons.”


	7. Chapter 7

The hours before Silva arrives at Skyfall pass almost as slowly as the ones he spent in his cell in China.

He’s jumpy, irritable; he barks vicious orders at his men until their minds turn towards mutiny. Of course they wouldn’t dare disobey him- Silva would make their lives hell if they did. He takes a small measure of pride in knowing that fear alone is enough to keep them loyal to him.

Silva himself rides in an armored black Saab with three of his best men; the others follow at a distance in a huge military-grade van. They are the expendables: the ones he’ll send as the first wave of attack on Skyfall manor. The two vehicles are conspicuous, but Silva isn’t worried- there’s hardly another soul on the Scottish roads apart from the locals.

He furiously types code on his laptop to pass the time. He’s writing a new security program for the island: twelve encrypted levels, each with three randomly mutating binary streams. He’s almost proud of it, although he doubts he’ll live to see it installed. No matter. It’s the only thing that can distract him from the panic that’s building in his chest, threatening to burst from his throat in a bloody scream.

He doesn’t want to kill M. But at the same time, he does. _Has_ to, really, at this point. It’s too late to turn back.

It’s almost evening when they reach the gap in Glencoe, the huge expanse of moor stretching between two scenic cliffs a perfect landing surface for his helicopter. The chopper is already descending when the Saab comes to a stop on the uneven road, and the wind from the rotors whips Silva’s hair into a disheveled frenzy as he steps out of the car.

He glances at his reflection in the car window, noting with a frown his too-pale complexion and the bruise-colored circles underneath his eyes. He hasn’t slept in two nights, and it shows.

It’s cold outside, the landscape a harsh palette of steely greys and dismal browns. Silva shivers and shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his trench coat, the beginnings of a headache throbbing dully at his temple.

He can’t imagine what it must have been like for James to grow up here. Alone, and with only an old gamekeeper to watch over him... Silva’s chest aches at the thought. And yet, there is no other place in the world that suits James as well as this one. His James, so cold and remote- his eyes as frigid as the icy pools that dot the moors, his face as impassive as the grey shale of the cliffs. This place reminds him so much of James that he almost can’t stand to look at it.

And of course, there are memories here. So many memories.

They board the helicopter in silence, apart from the incessant drone of the engines. Silva sits at the back and presses his head against the smooth cabin wall, feeling the thrum of the rotors through the metal hull. His men don’t attempt to talk to him, and for that he is grateful. This might be the last time he has his thoughts to himself.

Silva has always had a vivid imagination, and for a moment it’s easy to envision what would happen if he just forgot the whole plan. Gave up on revenge, and lived the rest of his life undetected and unremarkable. It’s an intoxicating thought, and Silva allows the fantasy to continue for a few more seconds before he reins himself in. 

Perhaps it might not even be too late for him and James.

But this has gone too far already. Silva shakes his head as if to physically chase away the thoughts, his mouth curling in a grimace. The notion that his 15-year plan could be derailed by some ridiculous fantasy is appalling. 

True, he could turn back now. But that would also mean denying M the punishment that she deserves. That _he_ deserves.

And as for James, it can be only a matter of time before he sees the sickness lurking beneath Silva’s skin; before the monster inside drives him away. Because Silva is not Tiago anymore, and he never will be. Whether or not James has chosen to accept that yet is unclear. 

Skyfall isn’t far from Glencoe, but Silva orders the pilot to circle the helicopter around the gorge a few times before heading towards the estate. He wants the first group of his men to have time to shake things up a little, although he doubts they’ll inflict serious damage. M and James are too smart for that.

Besides, he wants to be the one to kill her.

The glaring fault in his plan is that he has no idea what to do about James. Killing him is the obvious option, but Silva doesn’t know if he can do it. He just hopes that James stays out of his way until M’s dead, and after that… Well, after that, nothing would matter. James can kill him once the job is done, if he wants.

It feels like hours before the helicopter finally turns towards Skyfall. Silva’s been waiting for a signal from the first group of men, but there’s nothing, even though they made it to the estate at least thirty minutes ago. He supposes they must all be dead, and an unbidden smile crosses his face as he imagines James gunning them down.

Dusk is settling, and Skyfall looms huge and black on the moors as the helicopter crosses the mountain ridge. They’ll be landing soon, but Silva has one last trick planned before they touch down.

It’s the song, of course. An inside joke between him and James, although Silva would never tell that to his men.

It was 1996, and he and James were on their first mission together in Argentina. It was their final night in Buenos Aires: they had taken out the last remaining member of the cartel that morning, and they decided to go out for drinks in the evening to celebrate. They were in this tiny little dive- a piece of shit, really- whose only notable feature was the huge jukebox in the corner playing a constant stream of outdated rock.

James had handed him a quarter, telling him to pick a song. This was the one that he chose. It made James laugh, and when nobody was looking he snuck a kiss on Tiago’s cheek. 

Stupid, really. But Silva knows that James will remember.

The last chords of the song fade as the chopper touches down on hard earth, the rotors sending brittle wisps of dead grass into the air. Silva climbs down first, pulling his collar up to block out the freezing wind.

Skyfall is dark, and the windows are covered with wooden boards. If Silva didn’t know better, he’d think it was abandoned.

“Hide all you want,” he murmurs, his fingers searching in his pocket for the first grenade. “You’ll have to come out sooner or later.”

He throws the grenade. And a second. And a third. Skyfall goes up in flames, sending up neon orange sparks into the now ink-colored sky.

But still there’s nothing- no sign of James, or M for that matter, and it’s making him nervous.

“Afraid to come out and say hello?” he yells against the deafening roar of the chopper, kicking aside the stiffening body of one of his mercenaries as he walks closer to the house. He throws another grenade through a shattered window, and is met with a sudden burst of gunfire from somewhere inside the walls. 

That’s more like it, Silva wants to say. 

Still, it’s not enough. He wants to see James face-to-face one last time, even though he knows it’s a reckless idea. He really shouldn’t, especially if he wants to find M before anyone else does. But there’s a part of him that wants to die tonight, _hopes_ for it, and he needs to leave James with something to remember him by.

He doesn’t want James to hate him when he’s dead.

Panic momentarily settles over him as he considers the possibility that M has somehow already escaped from the house. But how? And if James is still in the house, is she alone?

Something gleams at the edge of his vision, interrupting his thoughts. It’s the Aston Martin, its bullet-riddled exterior still shining in the harsh light of the flames.

Silva has an idea.

He glances towards the helicopter hovering overhead and, in a wide sweeping gesture, points towards the car. The pilot opens fire, and the Aston Martin is annihilated in a matter of seconds, its gasoline tank exploding with an ear-shattering boom.

If this doesn’t get James out in the open, Silva doesn’t know what will.

Pieces of the Aston’s undercarriage fall from the sky like hail, and Silva expects that James must be fuming.

What he _doesn’t_ expect is the entire house to explode in a giant ball of fire a mere thirty seconds later, sending his helicopter careening into the wreckage in a second, even larger explosion.

The force of the blast knocks Silva to the ground almost immediately, his eardrums ringing painfully. Finally he manages to pull himself up, his vision blurred and shaky.

For a moment he’s disoriented, fumbling to recover his gun from where he dropped it on the ground. The flames are incredibly hot, and his forehead is slick with sweat. 

James is gone, Silva knows he is- he must have rigged the explosion before escaping out some hidden entrance. The only question is, where is he now? 

Silva is torn between wanting to find James and wanting to find M before James gets to her first. The whole situation is confusing enough to make his head hurt, in addition to the throbbing in his ears. 

Finally he decides to go for M.

“Just make sure Bond’s dead!” he snarls at two of his men, shoving them aside as he walks away from the burning wreckage of the house. He doesn’t really mean it, but he knows that James is smart enough to avoid them. What he really needs is a distraction; to get James out of his way while he looks for M. 

Silva gazes out onto the blackness of the moor, unsure of which direction to take.

And then he sees it: a tiny pinprick of light, slowly moving towards the old chapel on the other side of the lake.

 _M._  

Silva doesn’t waste any time heading after her. If he’s guessed right, James is already halfway towards the chapel. He can only hope that somehow their paths will cross, if his men are successful in holding James back a few minutes.

 There’s only one way to find out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies that this took me so long! I was hoping to finish it, but looks like there's still another chapter left. Hopefully I'll get it done soon :)

Silva can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he crosses the moor, the tiny pinprick of light emanating from the chapel window seemingly miles away.

The night is dark and cold, and the waning fire of James’s home is the only source of light to illuminate his way. He stumbles once- now twice, laughing as his knees bruise against the icy ground.

Each step closer to M is exhilarating. Silva feels dizzy. He sucks frozen air deep into his lungs, his vision spinning dangerously as he glances at the faint stars above him.

Even though it’s dark and flames are licking at the edges of the heather, the moor still reminds him of that one summer; the summer he came here with James- could it really be almost twenty years ago?

The shrubs had been in bloom then, and the ice over the lake had thawed to reveal the deep blue water beneath. It was their last afternoon in Scotland before returning to England, and he and James had decided to hike out onto the moor and take a picnic for lunch. Nothing elaborate, just a few beers from the local brewery and some sandwiches. After all, neither of their tastes had been quite so discerning back then.

James was happy, Silva remembers; happier than he’d ever seen him. Everything was so simple.

For a moment he pauses to remember. If he closes his eyes, he can almost see James on the shore, his face happy and flushed with sunburn. Waving at Silva to join him in the water.

Afterwards they had made the short hike to the chapel, which was dusty and filled with yellow summer light. Silva grins as the memories suddenly rush back to him- James had pushed him up against the altar and kissed him deeply, the blatant sacrilege of the act somehow making it sweeter. That was back when he was still Catholic, although it hadn’t stopped him and James from going further.

The memory of that warm afternoon is so strong that it almost makes Silva forget about the icy wind that’s whipping underneath his leather trench coat. But then he remembers where he is, and he’s suddenly cold again. He gives his head a quick shake, trying to clear the insidious thoughts from his mind- they can only be a distraction.

He begins to walk again, the ground hard-packed and frozen underneath his boots. He would be lying if he said that he doesn’t still care about James. That’s obvious. But Silva is practical. He knows that no possibility of a future exists for them, especially considering how much they’ve changed over the years… and the fact that he’s about to kill the woman that’s been a mother to both of them.

The chapel is close now. Silva imagines that he can see M’s silhouette in the window, but it might just be the candlelight playing tricks on his eyes. He unconsciously traces the outline of the handgun in his pocket, and a smile briefly flickers across his face.

Suddenly there’s a crunching sound behind him. Silva freezes, then slowly turns to face the intruder.

It’s James. He’s maybe a dozen meters away, standing atop the thick ice that covers the surface of the lake, but it’s unmistakably him.

For a moment, Silva is unsure what to do. James hasn’t seen him yet, so it would be too easy to continue on to the chapel and leave him behind... but Silva knows that would be a mistake. Knowing James, he’ll turn up before M is dead and make things even more difficult.

He decides that he might as well take care of it now. Casually he pulls out his gun and fires a shot into the ice at James’s feet, nowhere close to hitting him, but enough to make him jump.

James stiffens at the shot and immediately turns towards Silva, his face smeared with something that looks like dirt or blood. Probably both. His eyes widen with recognition, and then his face is blank again.

James really is an excellent agent, Silva thinks to himself. Almost as good as he- or Tiago- had been. It occurs to him that if he has to die, he wouldn’t mind it being at James’s hand. At least there’s some honor in that.

But as James raises his gun, his eyes as cold as the ice beneath his feet, Silva knows that he won’t do it. It’s something in his stance, some little weakness in his shoulders that betrays the uncertainty within. Silva wonders if the agent is even aware of it himself.

“Drop the gun,” James says firmly, deftly turning off the safety. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“Come off it, James,” Silva sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “If you were really going to kill me, you wouldn’t take the time to warn me about it. Shoot first, ask questions later, yes?”

Even under the filth on his face Silva can see the slight flush that breaks across James’s cheeks. He was right.

“Come here,” Silva says softly, and James’s gun hand shifts imperceptibly lower at the sound of his voice. “Come here, and I’ll explain to you what’s going to happen.”

James looks down, his shoulders slumping, and Silva knows he’s got him. Finally he walks towards the shore, the ice creaking darkly underneath him until he’s eye-to-eye with Silva on the rocky soil.

They are silent for a moment, just looking at each other. James looks like he hasn't slept in days: dark circles are carved under his eyes like bruises.

Silva is the first to speak. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” _For the last time_ , he thinks, but James probably knows that already. His clip is full, and after he puts a bullet in M he plans on swallowing one himself.

“You just burnt down my house,” James says, and Silva smiles at the unexpected wryness in his voice. Typical James, avoiding the real questions with half-serious remarks.

“I would apologize, but…” Silva runs a hand through his matted hair, the ends stiff with his own blood. “..but it seems like you haven’t visited for a while. Maybe I did you a favor.”

“Maybe. I suppose it’s for the best, anyways. Too many memories,” James replies absently, and there is so much regret in his eyes that Silva has to look away.

James looks so desolate that Silva reaches out a gloved hand to brush against his arm, but the agent jerks away.

“James,” Silva says softly. “I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

And he is. This hurts more than anything he’s ever had to do, but M’s death is non-negotiable. Why can’t James see that?

Silva tries to pull him closer again, and this time James gives in, allowing Silva to bring him in against his chest.

At first James is stiff, but soon he relaxes into Silva’s grip and exhales his tension in a rattling sigh.

“You’re filthy,” Silva murmurs with a smile, running his fingers through the agent’s closely cropped hair. Despite the blood and ash, the bristles are still soft against his hand. Years ago, his hair had been longer- too long, by MI6 standards- but Silva almost prefers it this way. James leans into the touch unconsciously, his eyes closing as Silva’s fingers move to the sensitive skin of his neck. He’s always liked to be touched. That part hasn’t changed.

Silva isn’t sure who initiates it, but suddenly they’re kissing, one of his hands cupping James’s face and the other wrapping around his waist. He knows it’s absolutely the wrong time for this, but James tastes so good. If he had to name a flavor, he might say salt and whiskey. Like he always tastes.

Silva moves closer, and James responds by anchoring his hands to Silva’s hips, frantically pressing flush against him. The kiss grows intimate, almost sexual, and Silva can taste the desperation on James’s lips.

“James,” Silva murmurs, sensing that the agent is close to his breaking point, but James just kisses him harder. He kisses like he’s looking for something that he once lost.

James suddenly fists his hands in Silva’s jacket and buries his face in the other man’s chest, a ragged noise escaping from his chest. Silva holds him and waits for the panic to pass, making gentle shushing noises in the agent’s ear. “James. James.”

When James finally pulls away, his eyes are unnaturally bright.

“Why are you doing this to me.” James’s voice is so flat that it doesn’t even sound like a question. He begins to back away, his boots scuffing on the ice as he moves out on the lake again.

Silva glances down and notices that James is digging his fingernails into his palms, his knuckles white with effort. It makes him sad, and he looks away.

“I…” Silva starts, but trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Unsure how to finish things with James, even after all these years.

James looks at the lake, at his feet, at the burning remains of Skyfall behind them- anywhere but Silva’s eyes. His body is so stiff that Silva can almost feel the waves of tension rolling off him.

“You don’t know how much I want to kill you right now,” James says suddenly, his fingers twitching towards the handgun in his jacket pocket.

Silva is quiet for a moment.

“Then do it,” he finally responds, and no one is more surprised at his words than he is.

But he means it. If James has the strength to pull the trigger on him at this very moment, Silva would let him. It doesn’t make sense, but it seems… fair. But this is his last chance. If James can’t do it now, then Silva won’t let him stand in his way anymore.

James falters, his jaw dropping slightly.

“You want me to kill you?”

“Well, no. Not yet,” Silva says truthfully. It’s not that he doesn’t want to die, it’s just… he has unfinished business.

“I’m not going to let you kill M, if that’s what you mean by that,” James replies coldly, narrowing his eyes.

_So now we’re at a standstill_ , Silva thinks to himself. This is not part of the plan. He doesn’t want to hurt James, but if it comes down to it, he might have to. The window of opportunity he has to finish things with M is rapidly closing, and Silva feels the beginnings of panic clawing at the edges of his mind.

And then, a miracle. One of his men- the Armenian, maybe; Silva didn’t bother to remember their names- is approaching James from behind, surprisingly quiet on the frozen surface of the lake.

By the time James hears the sound of his boots, it’s already too late: the thug’s got his sights trained in the middle of his chest. Silva inwardly cringes as James visibly stiffens, his face turning cold and impassive in a matter of seconds.

He can’t afford to feel bad about this. He doubts James will actually be hurt, but this will certainly buy him enough time to make it to the chapel.

“Well, Mother’s calling,” he says with a grin, shutting off the part of his brain that wants to regret this. “I’ll give her a goodbye kiss for you.”

James doesn’t respond, and Silva wonders what he’s thinking.

And then without warning, he fires several quick shots into the frozen surface of the lake, water spraying from the bullet holes in the ice. The sound is deafening. With a groan, the ice buckles beneath them, and then James and the Armenian both fall into the icy water, disappearing so quickly beneath the blackish surface that Silva almost doesn’t believe it even happened.

James never fails to surprise him, but this is definitely unusual.

Good luck getting out of this one, Silva thinks, although he doesn’t doubt that James will survive. Double-oh agents are notoriously hard to kill, after all.

Once the water is still again, he doesn’t linger. The light from the chapel is beckoning across the moor, and this time he’s sure he can see M through the windowpanes.

Time to finish this once and for all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been awesome, guys. thanks for reading!

Despite the orange glow from the candles, it’s freezing inside the chapel, and Silva’s breath is icy in the air as he silently enters the dimly lit chamber. He spots M near the altar, her back turned to him, and his eyes suddenly burn. He wishes he could capture this image in his mind forever.

“Of course,” he murmurs, and M whips around at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening in fear. “It had to be here. It had to be this way.” Skyfall, James, M, himself: the past and present all coming together again one last time. The hushed sanctity of the chapel is the perfect backdrop for what he considers to be a sacred moment. For so many years, the woman standing before him has been an almost religious obsession-- now, her death will represent his final sacrifice.

M just stares at him, shrinking away as he walks closer. 

An old man suddenly appears in the doorway across from M, obliviously muttering about supplies, but he falls silent as soon as he sees Silva on the other side of the chapel. Silva fires a warning shot that skims off the doorframe- he doesn’t want to kill the man, but he will if it comes down to it. “Don’t,” he rasps, and the old man backs away, looking petrified.

Now it’s just him and M.

He walks up to her, reaching out a bloody hand to touch her face. She looks fragile, her eyes huge and her face ashen with fear.

Suddenly Silva notices a dark patch of wetness on her wool coat, blooming ominously from a tear in the fabric. It’s blood.

“You’re… you’re hurt,” he stammers, grasping her icy hand and leaning in closer to examine the wound. “What have they done to you?” M pulls away from his touch, her face contorting in pain, and Silva feels panic set in. This was not how this was supposed to end.

“What have they done to you?” he whispers again, vowing to end whoever injured M before he got to her. He never wanted her to suffer. Only to die regretting what she had done to him.

Seeing M in front of him, small and in pain, is enough to make him question whether what he’s doing is really right after all. He presses his gun to the side of her head and then lowers it again, hating himself as she shivers at the touch. He feels empty inside. 

It’s too much at once, and Silva wonders if he’s strong enough to do anything at all. At this point, he imagines that it would be cruel not to kill her. She’s obviously lost a lot of blood, and it’s painful to watch her fading.

Suddenly the door swings open behind them with a loud bang. Silva whirls around, confused, and then his heart sinks as he recognizes the familiar face.

It’s James, his clothes soaking wet and filthy with mud. His eyes dart from the gun in Silva’s shaking hands to M, leaning weakly on the pew with blood dripping from her coat. 

“You didn’t…?” James trails off, and Silva realizes that the agent must think that he already shot her.  

“No,” he responds curtly, not meeting James’s eyes. “But she’s hurt.”

James tries to step forward to M’s side, but Silva trains his gun between the agent’s eyes and he stops in his tracks. “Please don’t." 

At this point, he’s only stalling. They’ve reached a dead end, and the only way out is for someone to pull the trigger.

 

\--

 

As he bursts into the chapel, out of breath and soaking wet with freezing lake water, James has the horrible realization that he might be too late. The sight before him is grim: Silva is standing with his back to him, gun in hand, his motionless form casting a shadow over M’s body as she slumps against the pew.

Silva turns at the sound of his footsteps, his face blank and unreadable.

“You didn’t…?” James hears himself ask, his voice oddly small, and for a moment his heart leaps as he realizes that M is still alive. But only barely. He tries to meet her eyes, desperate to reassure her that he’s here now. Here to save her.

“Please, Tiago. Drop the gun,” he pleads, using Silva’s true name in a moment of desperation. He edges closer to the altar, keeping his hand carefully trained on the hunting knife in his pocket-- it’s all he has now, since the last gun he held is now somewhere at the bottom of the lake.

“It’s not too late,” he adds softly, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He’s close enough to the altar now that he could reach out and touch Silva if he wanted. Maybe if he chooses the right words, everything will be all right. “There’s still time to turn back.”

Silva laughs at that, and it’s a harsh, ugly sound. “Give it up, James.” There’s something new in his eyes now, something hard and cold, and James feels his chest tighten.

“Why?” At this point, he knows it’s a lost cause, but he can’t think of anything else to do.

“We wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for you,” Silva replies coldly, his face an expressionless mask. “You thought you could fix me. But all this wouldn’t have happened if you had just done your job. You should have just killed me. Would’ve saved MI6 a lot of time. And fewer deaths.” He chuckles.   

James doesn’t know what to say. _He’s lying. He’s got to be lying._ He glances down at M, who’s now sitting curled against the edge of the pew with her eyes closed. He can tell that she’s still breathing, but she’s probably slipping in and out of consciousness from the pain and blood loss. _Don’t die_ , he silently wills her. _Please._  

“Why did you let it go on this long?” Silva continues, shaking his head tiredly. “Why didn’t you just shoot me when we were in the tunnels? It’s because you let _this_ get in the way,” and he pokes James’s chest with the barrel of his gun. “Pathetic, really. But convenient for me. Having your loyalty has made this rather easy for me.” He grins widely, his face stiff with dried blood. “So I’d really like to thank you, James. Thank you for being so… dependable.”

James can’t take it anymore. He reaches out and shoves Silva roughly, anger rising like bile in his throat. “What the fuck are you saying?” he growls, and Silva’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re telling me that this-- us --means nothing to you? You used me to get to M? God, Tiago.” He pauses, his eyes flaring with hurt. “I would think that you’d remember how it feels to be betrayed.” 

And at those words, James _sees_ something in Silva’s eyes. It’s only for a split second, replaced by the usual coldness, but it’s unmistakably there. _Regret._

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers, his voice stronger than he expected.

Silva looks away.

“You think this will be easier if you push me away,” James says quietly, his chest tight as the realization hits him. “You think that killing her will hurt less if I think you used me.”

When Silva meets his eyes again, the mask of indifference is gone. Now he just looks tired. Scared. The orange flame-light flickers on his face, illuminating the dark circles engraved deep under his eyes.

“Why can’t you just let me go, James?” he murmurs, his voice flat and broken. “Please. Just let me do what I came here to do.” 

“I can’t. I can’t let you kill her.”

Silva gives him a look then, a look that James imagines will be ingrained in his mind forever. It’s a look of complete desolation, of resignation to his fate. James can’t bear to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, James,” Silva says quietly, and then suddenly he’s pulling M to her feet and wrapping her bloody hands around his gun. It happens so fast that James doesn’t react at first, only watching as Silva leans in to whisper something in M’s ear. It’s too quiet for James to hear, but then it dawns on him as Silva presses his forehead to M’s and guides her shaking finger around the trigger. _“Free both of us.”_

If Silva can’t kill M himself, he’ll get her to do it for him.

And then, as if compelled by some unseen force, James springs into action, pulling the hunting knife from the jacket and hurling it towards Silva’s back. The knife seems to hang in slow motion in the air, the cold steel glistening before it sinks deep between Silva’s shoulder blades with a sickening thud.

Silva goes rigid, an awful gurgling noise escaping from his lungs. The gun falls from his hand and clatters on the floor, and M visibly relaxes as he lets go of his grip on her coat.

Silva slowly turns to face him, his face ashen and his pupils blown wide with pain. He staggers closer to James, his lips moving as if to speak, but nothing comes out. The expression in his eyes is something that James can’t quite place- surprise? Anger? 

 “Last rat standing,” James says, and he feels a part of his heart go icy as Silva’s eyes glaze over and he drops to his knees. He’s gone.

Silva slumps to the ground, the knife buried deep in his back, and James turns away for the last time. M is still alive, and that’s all that matters. He can’t cry over Silva’s body. He won’t. Because there’s still a part of him that hopes that this isn’t the end.

Perhaps one last resurrection is in order.   

 _If he could do it once, he can do it again._  

 _He has to_ , James thinks. _He has to_. Because without him, James is truly alone this time.


	10. Epilogue

Noon. The South China Sea is crystal clear, and the sun shines bright on the white hull of the Chimaera as it cuts through the choppy water.

James is in the pilot’s seat, a crisp linen shirt partially unbuttoned over his tanned chest. He’s wearing a somewhat ridiculous naval officer’s cap, the crest of the Royal Navy embroidered across the brim—Silva had insisted, naturally. “You’ll look just like you did back when you were a commander,” he had said with a sly grin as he placed the cap on James’s head and pulled it down snugly over his hair. James had complained endlessly, of course, but now that the sun has risen high over the water he is secretly glad for the shade of the visor.

It’s summertime, and each day has blended into the next with a lazy, dreamlike quality. James can’t remember a time in his life that he has ever felt so free. There is no obligation, no mission looming in the distance- just the open sea and the endless stretch of blue sky above him. He’s older now; maybe past his prime, but he can’t help but feel that his life has just begun.

Silva himself is lounging on the deck, his blond hair tousled by the wind and his eyes obscured by a thick pair of retro shades. His offensively bright shirt is open and flutters in the wind like a silken flag. James wonders what he’s thinking about. He’s been quiet today, mainly staring out at the water or lying down on his chair to sleep in the sun. James supposes he’ll never really know; even without sunglasses Silva’s eyes are inscrutable.                                                                                                   

“Where to next?” James’s voice is almost drowned out by the ocean spray, but after a moment Silva turns to look at him with a crooked smile. 

“Anywhere in the world,” the blond replies, luxuriously stretching from his recliner. “Now come help me put on sunblock.”

James groans out of principle, but really he doesn’t mind. He turns off the engine and lets the Chimaera drift among the sun-dappled waves.

Silva beckons him out on the deck, a tumbler of whiskey having suddenly materialized in his hand. “Drink?”

“Of course,” James replies, and takes a generous sip. It’s good liquor, the bitter-hot bloom suddenly coming alive on his tongue.

He takes a seat next to Silva’s deck chair and accepts the tube of sunscreen with a dramatic sigh. Silva chuckles and rolls onto his stomach, folding the silk shirt beside him in such a careful way that James has to bite back a smile. “Go on,” he mumbles into the cushion, flexing his shoulder blades expectantly. 

“All right, all right,” James mutters, but his first touch to Silva’s back is gentler than even he had expected. 

Silva sighs contentedly as James rubs the lotion onto his skin, his fingers skimming over countless scars that are now white with age. Except for one, James thinks, his hand lingering over the still-pink scar where the hunting knife had punctured his right lung almost six months ago. Nearly paralyzed him.

So much had happened in those six months.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks absentmindedly, tracing the scar tissue with his index finger.

“Sometimes,” Silva answers truthfully after a pause. “But it’s not bad. I can breathe easier now.”

James furrows his brow, troubled, and Silva shifts beneath him with a sigh. “It’s not your fault, James. I can feel you worrying about it.” He rolls over onto his side as James caps the sunscreen bottle, the defined muscles in his back moving reassuringly. It’s hard not to feel guilty for almost ending the man’s life, but it makes James feel better to know that Silva is just as strong as he is. He’s survived much worse, at any rate. 

“Water under the bridge,” Silva says with a grin, and James wonders if he’s making an allusion to his near-fatal fall that day in Turkey. With Silva, it’s hard to tell.

James drains the last of his whiskey and the blond watches him, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Do you miss England, James?” Silva asks suddenly, removing his sunglasses and squinting at the sudden brightness. His eyes are green against his newly tanned face.

James takes his time in answering, because up until this moment, he hadn’t really thought about it. Is England his home? He’s been around the world so many times that he can’t tell any more.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he replies finally, and as he says it he knows it’s true. “Like I never missed Scotland, even after all those years. It’s just another place, I suppose. A place I used to love, but now it’s lost its meaning to me.” He looks out at the water, picturing his old life thousands of miles away. “I don’t belong there any more.”

Silva’s face is unreadable, and James wonders if he’s testing him. “And where do you belong now, hmm?”

“Here, I think,” James responds simply. “With you.” 

Silva stares at him for a while and then leans over and kisses him fiercely. His mouth tastes as sweet as the sangria he’s been drinking, and James savors the taste possessively.

Soon Silva is on top of him, James’s deck chair shaking dangerously under their combined weight. He bites at James’s jaw, whispers filthy promises in his ear. James can’t complain.

“Later I’m going to fuck you on this chair,” Silva grins into James’s neck, and the agent shudders beneath him.

“Why not now?” James retorts, his voice noticeably rougher than before.

“Because now there’s no one around,” Silva responds, his voice taking on a darker tone. James raises an eyebrow. “Let’s wait till there’s another ship in sight… I think you’ll enjoy it more if I take you while there’s a chance of being seen. What do you say to that?”

James’s pants are suddenly too tight, and Silva laughs as he adjusts them. “I thought you might.” 

“And what shall we do in the meantime?”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Silva drawls, running a lazy hand through James’s closely cropped hair. “Another drink?”

“Please.” 

Silva rises to pour them each a generous finger of whiskey, the liquid a gorgeous amber color in the sun.

James clinks his tumbler against Silva’s. “Cheers.”

They sit in amiable silence for a while, listening to the faint call of seagulls overhead.

Silva is the first to speak again. “I have a proposition for you.”

“And what might that be?”

Silva finishes his whiskey and bares his teeth at the taste. “I have enjoyed the last few months immensely. Your company is superb. But at this point in my life… I am not ready to retire. I suspect that you aren’t, either.”

James stares at him, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I’m sure you’re wondering if I mean a return to a life of crime,” Silva continues with a smirk, and of course he’s right. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Are you re-extending your offer to choose our own secret missions?” James asks, and Silva laughs in surprise, remembering their first meeting on the island so many months ago.

“I suppose I am. Do you accept?” Silva’s face is amused, but James can see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Mm… what’s in it for me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Travel. Food, cars… and me, of course.”

“In that case, how can I say no?”

Silva’s responding smile is genuine. “Excellent, Mr. Bond. In fact, I have your first assignment now.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Pour me another drink.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe I couldn't bear killing off Silva <3 hope you guys enjoyed it! this epilogue was so fun to write.


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